


The Nature of the Beast

by midwich



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Instincts, Blood, Dragon Hanzo Shimada, Explosions, M/M, No Sex, Pining, Scenting, Violence, mccree's humongous danger kink, questionable battle tactics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18948706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwich/pseuds/midwich
Summary: It only took a second of further observation for McCree to realize that something was off.Hanzo was slowly and meticulously licking the blood from his fingers.AKA sometimes the dragons can take over Hanzo during intense battles and turn him into a savage animal, but McCree’s the one who's losing his mind. Because Hanzo being extra scary also makes him extra hot, apparently





	The Nature of the Beast

**Author's Note:**

> quick heads up in case you missed the tags- theres no actual sex with dragon (or non dragon) hanzo at any point in this fic, apologies to folks who were looking for either...just a lot of blood, growling, unintended arousal, and tonal whiplash here

They were in Lijiang on an escort mission the first time McCree witnessed the change.

The team had been ambushed at midday, with the payload only four blocks away from the delivery point. Talon had announced their arrival with a sudden barrage of explosives, with Reinhardt only barely managing to shield the members of the team on the payload. The subsequent battle had been sheer chaos, with gunfire on the streets, civilians screaming and fleeing in all directions, and a thick pall of black smoke hanging over the entire bloodbath, choking everyone within range.

McCree had been one of the ones down on the street with the payload when the bombs fell, stumbling as the ground shook beneath him. Reinhardt had protected him from the explosion itself. Luck and instinct made him shut his eyes quick enough to avoid the blinding flash. And although neither had stopped him from being deafened by the blast, he only needed his arm and his eyes to shoot, which was what he did.

What followed had been a seemingly endless nightmare of taking down enemy after enemy, clearing the path for Zarya to push the payload forward, and having basically no idea where any of the others were within the smoke and madness. If he’d taken even a second to stop and think about the situation, McCree knew the panic would have choked him till he was useless – but ever since he was old enough to hold a gun, he’d been thrown into scenes just like this, had come under fire just like this, hell, had even had his eardrums burst just like this, so thankfully his training soon kicked in.

As acting field commander he started automatically delegating and shifting tasks whenever new information presented itself, bellowing into his comm until his voice was shot, hoping the others on the team would be able to parse his orders and obey the ones that made sense, given that he could only hear muffled undertones in response.

Gradually, the tide of the battle began to turn. As they fought their way down the street, the enemies began slowly clearing, although there was still the ever-present suppressive fire from the remaining Talon agents, hidden away in the buildings around them. The fighting continued, and McCree caught glimpses of Reinhardt and Pharah through the smoke, still battling, and then Zenyatta was floating overhead at a later point, orbs shining and hurtling in the air– and with a rush of healing energy, McCree felt his exhausted limbs grow strong and limber once again and the thundering roar of battle and gunfire suddenly rush into his ears.

“Hanzo, status!” he immediately barked into his comm, seeking the one remaining member of the team he hadn’t yet seen with his own eyes. For a long moment, there was no response. From the locked box inside of him, the dark place where he’d temporarily thrown all inconvenient emotions, McCree was clinically aware of a distant, cold terror that made the box start to rattle. Then, there was a sudden crackle of static over the main channel.

“Building south west of the pagoda,” Hanzo’s voice rasped in McCree’s ear, and despite himself, McCree knew deep inside that wet, emotional part of himself, the part he’d done his damndest to shut away, that he’d never heard anything so glorious. “I’m targeting forces emerging onto the street,” Hanzo added, sounding strained beneath the sound of return fire. 

So, Hanzo was a good long distance away, and high above them besides. Carefully picking off agents from the stronghold to stop Talon forces from refreshing, all the while trying to avoid getting picked off himself. All on his lonesome. Vulnerable.

“Copy that, Hanzo,” McCree said with forced calm. He aimed his revolver and took down another enemy. “Keep it up,” he added, rather redundantly. He heard Hanzo grunt, then the sharp whistle of his bowstring loosing, before Hanzo left the channel. Inside McCree’s chest, the locked box gave another rattle. Suggesting that he immediately head over to help Hanzo. 

McCree ignored the urge, tempting though it was. He was still needed down here.

It felt like an eternity later until the last of the Talon agents on the street had been eliminated, and the remainder had retreated into the final stronghold to rally. Now, McCree was confident enough that they could protect the payload, while simultaneously carrying out a flanking manoeuvre to wipe out the rest of the Talon forces. “We’ll split right here,” he ordered the team, speaking to some face-to-face and the scattered rest over the main channel. “Me and Hanzo will flank ’em from the back, smoke 'em out, and the rest of you will keep pushing forward with the payload and meet ‘em all in the front.” There was a loud chorus of assent, Hanzo’s low voice among them. McCree told himself that this was obviously the best strategic option, even if it was also exactly what he wanted to do. 

He almost managed to convince himself of the fact as he eagerly split from the rest of the team and scaled the nearest building. 

“Hanzo, location?” he asked, as he reached the rooftops, this time using a private channel.

But there was no response. Not a sound. McCree repeated himself over the channel, feeling the same terror start to creep over him again as Hanzo still did not respond. All of a sudden, he was acutely aware that Hanzo had only been giving monosyllabic responses ever since his initial status report. McCree had put that down to Hanzo being too busy, too distracted to report full details – but it was also entirely possible that he’d been injured too severely to speak. McCree took a deep breath, clenching Peacekeeper tightly enough for his knuckles to ache. He started to move from rooftop to rooftop, advancing ever closer to Hanzo’s last known location.

“Hanzo, report?” he kept repeating over the private channel, increasingly desperate, no longer able to suppress the fear in his voice.

Just as he was nearing the pagoda, he heard a crackle over his comm. His heart seized. “Hanzo? Are you hurt?” Over the channel, he could hear slow, measured breathing. “Hanzo? Say something, anything. Just lemme know you’re okay. Please?” McCree heard a sudden huff across the channel, so obviously irritable that he felt his mouth give an involuntary twitch. But still not a word. Which meant Hanzo could still be hurt. “Alright, fine - you haven’t moved, have you?” A single grunt. McCree swallowed his fear. “On my way,” he said. 

Despite his edgy impatience, McCree remained cautious as he moved between buildings, keeping low to the tiles and avoiding any direct exposure of himself to the front of the Talon stronghold, aware he was now well within range of Talon snipers. 

At last, he was only one building away from Hanzo’s last reported location. 

He peered over the highest point of the sloped roof- then froze, his keen eyes immediately zeroing in on the scene of carnage on the next rooftop over. Bodies were sprawled across the tiles, crumpled and misshapen – Talon agents, immediately recognizable by their armoured uniforms, torn and broken and gory though they were. A lone figure was crouched in the midst of the bodies, so thoroughly drenched in blood that to most he would’ve been nigh unrecognizable. But McCree knew. It was Hanzo.

McCree’s breathing eased a little as his mind caught up with what he was seeing. Clearly, Talon had tried to deal directly with the troublesome sniper on the rooftops – but they’d failed. Quite spectacularly. Moreover, Hanzo’s alert, calm posture suggested that he hadn’t been injured in the process, at least not seriously. So, everything appeared to be fine. 

However, it only took a second of further observation for McCree to realize that something was off.

Hanzo was slowly and meticulously licking the blood from his fingers. 

Given that he was in fact drenched from head to toe, it would have been pretty slow going to clean his entire body this way, McCree thought, a little distractedly - but Hanzo seemed curiously unconcerned with his overall state. Instead, he only paid particular attention to his left hand, carefully cleaning every inch of exposed, tattooed skin with his tongue, along the palm and between the fingers, occasionally spitting to the side and grimacing faintly. Then, when he was done with the left, he moved onto the exposed skin of his right hand - though it was only the ring and pinkie finger here, as his usual three-fingered archery glove covered the rest of his right hand. All the while Hanzo was doing this, his eyes continued scanning his surroundings for the next threat. His next target.

Watching him made McCree’s chest clench tight. But not for the more obvious reason. McCree wasn’t particularly repulsed by what most ordinary people would have considered sickening behavior. Sure, it was strange that Hanzo had chosen to do…whatever this was, instead of just wiping his hands off on some dead Talon agent’s pants. But Hanzo actually did need his hands clean in order to grip and shoot his bow, and this was certainly...a way to do it.

No, the main reason for McCree’s unease was more subtle: he could see that something fundamental inside of Hanzo had actually changed. The part of him that had been human.

Because Hanzo’s tongue was laving over his own skin unthinkingly, automatically, the way a wild animal might clean itself of the blood and viscera of its prey.

Lord knew that McCree’d had to literally wash his own hands of blood enough times. Had seen other far more reprehensible characters do the same. But even with the most jaded killers he'd met in his time, there was always some deliberate awareness in the way that they did it, be it a subtle tension in the spine, a too-loud laugh, a tightness in the mouth, or a particular preoccupation under the fingernails. McCree’s sharp eyes had always picked up on it all. 

When he was younger, he used to think what he saw was guilt. Now older, a little more jaded himself, he considered it more neutrally to be a kind of cognizance, a uniquely human awareness of the value and weight of life, regardless of however many one might have taken. 

But at this very moment, McCree could see none of that awareness in Hanzo whatsoever. Nothing beyond a vague distaste for the bitter flavour in his mouth. His dark gaze was peculiarly blank. Although just as keen and intelligent as it had always been, it was now entirely devoid of any conscious reason. That was what terrified McCree the most.

McCree let out a shaky breath. No wonder Hanzo hadn’t been verbal over the comm. What the fuck had happened to him? Was this the result of some experimental weapon from Talon gone terribly wrong? Either way, McCree had to figure out a way to both complete the mission and get Hanzo back to the ship in one piece, so they could figure out some way to fix this. 

McCree slowly began to rise from his crouch - then bit back a curse as the movement dislodged a loose tile under his boot, which flew off the edge and hit the ground with a loud shatter. McCree immediately slammed his body down onto the roof and behind the ridge. 

Almost the exact moment the tile shattered, Hanzo had drawn his bow and loosed an arrow in McCree’s direction. Only the intimate knowledge of Hanzo’s reflexes and draw speed had saved McCree from an arrow to the face. As it was, McCree felt the arrow brush his hair as it whistled by. 

“Oh, fuck it,” he growled, hoping that the remaining, not-yet-slaughtered Talon forces were very much occupied at the moment. Still staying well behind the ridge, McCree cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, “Hanzo! Hello? It’s me, ya maniac! Don’t shoot me!” He paused. There was silence. Then, the sudden pattering sound of footsteps on roof tiles and a thump as the weight of another body landed…on McCree’s roof. "Uh, Han–”

McCree choked as Hanzo’s head appeared right over the ridge of the roof. His eyes looked just as dark and empty up close as they had from far away. Hanzo cocked his head, considered McCree a moment, his nostrils flaring - then, abruptly, he snarled and bared his canines. Which looked unusually sharp. Sharp enough to tear through skin like tissue paper.

“Alright, easy now,” McCree said. His voice was pitched low and soothing – and yes, fine, it shook slightly as well, but no more than one would expect when confronted with a hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle and seemingly no one at the wheel. “Easy, Hanzo,” McCree repeated, then realized that Hanzo was staring pointedly down at McCree’s groin, uh – no, wait, at the revolver in his belt. 

Well, shit. 

I must be out of my damned mind, McCree thought, as he slowly raised his hands over his head, and away from Peacekeeper. Away from what was essentially his only means to defend himself from this rabid version of Hanzo. But it seemed to do the trick, because Hanzo’s teeth slowly vanished behind his lips. 

McCree shook his head a little incredulously, hands still up in the air. Oddly enough, he felt genuinely offended. “Christ, Hanzo, you know full well I ain’t ever gonna ever try to hurt you–” And then he yelped.

Because Hanzo, from his perch on the ridge, had just given a surprisingly elegant leap and tackled McCree flat onto his back.

McCree gave a series of panicked shouts and curses as the impact sent him and Hanzo both skidding down the tiles, before they finally stuttered to a halt. McCree, hardly daring to move, glanced ever so slightly behind his head and let out a huge sigh of relief to see there was still a considerable amount of roof left. 

Then, he grew tense and scared again when Hanzo started scrabbling at his neck and jaw, making low, growling noises as he did so. “I really wish I knew what the fuck was going on,” McCree said, directing his words somewhat plaintively to the sky. 

Given that obeying rabid Hanzo had seemed to make him happy (or at least less murderous) thus far, McCree dutifully bared his throat, held his breath as Hanzo leaned in close, and tried not to piss himself as he felt teeth scraping lightly along his jugular. He muttered a relieved curse when the weird ritual seemed to satisfy Hanzo, because he left McCree’s neck un-mauled as he backed up.

McCree’s eyes widened once Hanzo drew back far enough for McCree to see his face again – because that smug, superior expression was one hundred percent familiar. It was the exact look Hanzo wore whenever he bested McCree in the shooting range. The same look he wore when he got exactly what he wanted. It was both incredibly infuriating and incredibly hot, because McCree could easily imagine Hanzo wearing that exact expression as he pushed McCree to his knees – although in this case, the hotness factor was rather undercut by the animal blankness in Hanzo's eyes. Even if the way Hanzo was straddling him was something straight out of his fantasies, it couldn't really make up for the fact that he was staring down at McCree with zero recognition. 

The feeling was mutual. Even though McCree recognized the expression itself as definitively Hanzo’s, it was undeniable that the man - or creature, or whatever – that was now peering out from behind Hanzo’s eyes might as well have been a complete stranger. 

Nonetheless, the small jolt of familiarity made McCree relax just a little bit. Foolish as it may have been, especially given he'd just had really sharp teeth against his neck.

“So, whatever that was means the two of us are good now, yea?” he breathed out, when he was sure he could speak again. Hanzo gave a grunt. “And I can touch Peacekeeper and you won’t claw my face off?” That same grunt again. McCree was starting to recognize it as a yes. “Alright,” McCree said. 

He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. Then, when Hanzo only blinked placidly at him, McCree dared to slowly reach for his revolver from his belt holster. Still no response except a slight inquisitive tilt of Hanzo’s head. The tension finally eased out of McCree’s shoulders and he decided it seemed safe to look away from Hanzo for the moment and check over his revolver. 

He clicked his tongue when he realized that not only was there a great deal of residue built up from all the rounds he’d fired earlier, there were also tiny flakes of dried blood and fragments of broken tile mixed in, no doubt from when he and Hanzo had been rolling around on the roof. McCree unwrapped part of his serape over his lap and pulled out a brush, cleaning patches, solvent, and gun lubricant from a pocket. With quick, familiar motions, he cleaned the barrel, the muzzle, the cylinders, and the hammer within a minute. He threw all the supplies back into his pocket, gave Peacekeeper one last polish on the corner of his serape, and then reloaded the cylinders. And then he was done.

When he glanced back up, he didn’t expect to see Hanzo watching him so intently, like he’d been entirely absorbed by every movement of McCree’s hands. 

It was yet another shock of familiarity. McCree had seen that exact steady, intent look most often whenever Hanzo had his eyes set on a target or enemy. However...very, very rarely, when McCree had said something unusually insightful or clever, Hanzo would briefly favour him with that same intent look - and then McCree would carefully hold that look in his head so he could jerk off to it later. Usually more times than he’d be comfortable admitting, even to himself. 

He rather regretted all that sordid history, because now, under the full weight of Hanzo's undivided, laser-focused attention, he was almost instantly hard. He tried subtly adjusting himself in his pants, then did so more conspicuously when it was clear that this version of Hanzo didn't care in the slightest if McCree had a hand down his pants in broad daylight. That brought him slightly back to reality. This creature wasn’t Hanzo – it couldn’t be further from Hanzo. McCree's arousal wilted quite a bit, enough that it made his job much easier.

“Alright,” he said gruffly, giving his pants one last tug. “How about we quit messing around and smoke out that Talon stronghold now?” 

Hanzo bared his teeth again, almost like a smile, and made a low, rumbling sound from his throat - it sounded pleased. And immediately ruined almost all of McCree’s hard work.

Logically, McCree knew that he ought to find everything about this terrifying - this deadly assassin’s body under the control of some ruthless creature mind, those sharp canines already bloodstained and still close enough to tear McCree’s own throat out – yet instead, bizarrely, horrifyingly, McCree found heat rapidly rushing south again. He cleared his throat loudly and said, with a pretty obvious note of desperation now, “Alright! Let’s go kick some Talon ass!” 

You are out of your mind to be getting turned on by all this, he told himself firmly, as he gingerly followed Hanzo over the rooftops, moving a bit awkwardly to accommodate the tent in his pants. Out of your mind, McCree repeated.

Yet at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from taking note of Hanzo’s languid, predatory crawl, or the razor-sharp way he turned his head to catalogue potential threats, or the way he licked his bloody mouth–

Out of your mind, McCree repeated. 

The two of them silently and effectively broke into the stronghold from the roof and then, floor by floor, used mostly a combination of Hanzo’s scatter arrows and McCree’s flash bangs, supplemented by occasionally stronger fire, to chase the Talon operatives out of the building and onto the street, where the rest of the team was already waiting.

Out of your damned mind, McCree thought more insistently, as he found himself repeatedly drawn back to the gleam of Hanzo’s canines, the wild, frenzied look in his dark eyes as he took down another enemy, and the fact that he just as easily did so with his bare hands as his bow and arrow– 

By the time they finally emerged from the building, after having chased down every last straggler in the building, McCree had all but resigned himself to this newfound, bloody addition to his ongoing descent into moral degeneracy, which started circa six months ago, the very day Shimada Hanzo landed at Watchpoint, Gibraltar and instantly became the subject of every single one of McCree's dirtiest, darkest, most depraved fantasies.

So what, was one more addition? So what, if he got a little excited by this savage creature version of Hanzo? It wasn't like Hanzo ever had to find out once he went back to normal. Everything was going to be fine. Just fine.

McCree made sure to adjust the bullet strap around the waist of his pants to sit slightly lower before he and Hanzo left the building, just in case – but he didn’t end up needing it quite yet.

“Oh my god– Hanzo!”

“My goodness–”

“Is he injured?” 

“McCree, what has happened to him?” 

The others forgot their victorious mood the moment they saw Hanzo and McCree - more specifically, Hanzo. Somewhere along the way, McCree had forgotten how monstrous and horrific Hanzo looked.

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s completely fine,” McCree said hurriedly. “None of it’s actually his own blood. Or mine.”

None of the team seemed particularly comforted by this. But that might've been for other reasons too. For instance, the fact that the moment they'd approached with their flurry of concerned questions, Hanzo had darted back, scaled the wall of a nearby building, and stubbornly camped out on the first-floor ledge. He was still there now, snarling down at them at regular intervals, his bow nocked and at the ready. Reinhardt had already half lifted his shield in front of them all just in case Hanzo got a little trigger happy. 

"Based on what Genji has told me about the Shimada dragons," Zenyatta was saying calmly, over the sound of Hanzo's hissing, "it is most probable that in the heat of battle, Hanzo's dragons sensed a grave threat that Hanzo himself was ill-equipped to deal with at the time, and so they took control of his mind and body in order to preserve their vessel. For them to release this control, Hanzo must achieve a state of inner peace that will sufficiently assure them that the threat has already passed.” 

“Inner peace, huh?” McCree repeated, staring at Hanzo’s still-furiously-hissing form from atop the ledge. “Uh-”

“Genji suggested that induced sleep is often the easiest method,” Zenyatta said, with a mild nod in Hanzo's direction. “Shall I?” 

McCree nodded, relieved. Then, after a split second of thought, he quickly stepped out from behind Reinhardt's shield and positioned himself just below Hanzo's ledge.

Then, Zenyatta made a complicated gesture and several of his orbs detached from his orbit and sped towards the ledge. Hanzo snarled something incomprehensible and, with his bow and arrow, managed to shoot and deflect all of the approaching orbs several times in a row. However, in his increasingly distracted and exhausted state he missed one of the orbs approaching from directly above his head. Hanzo growled weakly, clearly struggling to resist the pull as the orb descended and pulsed and started circling his head, but was unable to summon the strength to draw his bow anymore. At long last, he fell fast asleep – and fell from the ledge in the same instant. 

McCree caught him with a grunt, his metal arm bearing most of the weight of Hanzo’s legs, but being careful to cradle Hanzo’s head in his flesh hand. As he lifted Hanzo up to his chest, Hanzo unconsciously nosed against McCree’s jaw, rubbing a cheek against McCree's beard, and sighed.

What a day, McCree thought. Also, thank god for the bullet strap.

As they all waited for extraction in the shelter of one of the bullet-ridden buildings, McCree laid Hanzo out flat on his serape, sat beside him, and waited for him to wake. The others were all keeping a healthy distance, ostensibly to give them some privacy but most likely because Hanzo was still terrifying, even while unconscious. And that wasn't even all because of the blood, the guy pretty much looked just as scary underneath it too. And somehow McCree wanted him anyway. McCree rubbed a hand over his grimy face and sighed.

It didn’t take long before Hanzo started stirring. His fingers started twitching, then his hands, then legs, and then all of a sudden, his eyes snapped open, dark and blank, fixing on McCree’s face above him. There was silence for a moment as they stared at each other. Then, Hanzo’s nose wrinkled and McCree knew he was back.

“What is that metallic–” Hanzo rasped, then frowned at the sound of his torn voice, touching his throat hesitantly. He licked his lips, then physically recoiled, sitting up so fast McCree got whiplash from just watching. “Why does my mouth taste like–like…” McCree saw the exact moment Hanzo became aware of not only the blood in his mouth, but also the blood encrusted on his face, caked onto his clothes, matted in his hair. A small part of the look on his face was disgust, certainly, but the rest was all fear. Good old naked human fear. Welcome back to the human race, Shimada Hanzo. 

Hanzo grabbed a fistful of McCree’s collar, his eyes so dark and wide that McCree could drown in them. “Oh, god. McCree, please tell me none of this blood is yours or mine,” Hanzo whispered.

“All Talon, pumpkin,” McCree said.

Hanzo groaned, let go of McCree’s collar, and dropped his face into his hands. His fear visibly faded, giving way to a mortified flush visible even through all the blood. "What have I done? How could I let the dragons take over? How? How did this happen?" He trailed off, muttering in Japanese, voice muffled in his hands.

McCree was feeling just a little amused and vindictive about Hanzo finally being the one embarrassed for once - until he suddenly remembered that it hadn't been Hanzo who’d just dragged him through that bloodbath of the mission and simultaneously induced a weird, humiliating, late-stage sexual awakening in the process. 

Hanzo, the real actual Hanzo that McCree knew and cared about, had merely been unlucky enough to be possessed by his dragons early on in the battle, and had only just now woken up covered in blood. Hanzo had no clue about, nor fault in, any part of Jesse's stupid sexual crisis. After remembering that painful little fact, McCree ended up feeling like the world’s biggest asshole for any entertainment he'd had (however briefly) at Hanzo's expense. He quickly did his utmost to try and remedy his neglect.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it too much,” he said lowly, reaching out and putting a careful arm around Hanzo’s shoulders. Hanzo barely seemed to register the contact, his face still buried limply in his hands. “You were still there for the team. And everything you did still ended up being vital for the mission.”

“Everything I did?” Hanzo repeated slowly, eyes peeking through his fingers, clearly disbelieving. “Everything?”

Abruptly, McCree recalled in crisp, vivid detail the image of Hanzo growling over him, then straddling him on the roof and dragging sharp teeth down his jugular. He was suddenly aware of every electrifying point of contact between his arm and Hanzo's back. McCree felt his face grow hot and said, in a faint, strangled voice, “…Yes?”

Hanzo let out a groan and covered his face again. “Don't even tell me what I did. Please, just put me out of my misery...” Hanzo's distress was so obvious at this point that it instantly doused any arousal McCree might have just been feeling.

"Hey, none of that now." McCree pulled Hanzo into his side, ignoring the blood flaking off Hanzo onto his own clothing and armour - not that it even made much of a difference at this point, they were both basically equally filthy. No wonder the rest of the team were keeping their distance. "Seriously, Hanzo,” McCree said. “It could’ve gone worse.” Hanzo went still, then raised his head and pinned McCree with a sharp, flat look. 

“Right, of course,” Hanzo said coolly. “I completely forgot that one crucial fact. I now realize that it could've indeed been far worse. For example, I could’ve disembowelled you with my claws before I recognized you as an ally. Or I could've decided that I was hungry and chosen to feast on your entrails raw, because - just for your own interest - that is what my possessed self craves the most. Or, perhaps I could've taken genuine offence at any one of your careless words, and decided to castrate you with my teeth as punishment. Perhaps I might even have done it just for the pleasure of hearing you scream. Certainly, it could’ve gone worse, as you say."

McCree tried his hardest to look only scared rather than simultaneously scared and turned on. By the sudden frown and the quick, suspicious look Hanzo shot him, McCree suspected he wasn’t entirely successful. Eventually, Hanzo shrugged and seemed to let it slide.

"In any case," Hanzo said gloomily, "Genji is going to give me hell once he finds out about this." He sighed, looking exquisitely pained as he rested his head absently against McCree's shoulder. "This hasn’t happened to me since I was twenty-one and ate two of my least favourite cousins at the annual family reunion.” 

“Well, at least we delivered the payload,” McCree said weakly, helpless to stop the rapid stutter of his foolish heart.

**Author's Note:**

> may write some more of this if the inspiration strikes, but it's technically complete as is. i only hesitate to end it here because part of me just really wants this dumb, desperately pining version of mccree to have all his filthy fantasies fulfilled
> 
> anyway thanks for managing to endure this unbetad mess of weird kinks and no sex


End file.
